“I’ll talk to Molly,” Brent muttered, his voice cold. “She’ll tell you how crazy this is. She’s the only one who actually listens to reason.”

I felt a chill that had nothing to do with the winter wind.

He was already looking for a weak point, a way to crawl back in.

“Do not go near my sister, Brent,” I said.

He didn’t answer.

He just smiled, a thin, bitter line that didn’t reach his eyes.

The police cruiser pulled into the driveway, its tires crunching over the packed ice.

The deputy didn’t turn on his siren, but the flashing lights painted the snow-covered trees in rhythmic pulses of red and blue.

Brent stood on the porch, his shadow stretching long and distorted across the driveway.

The deputy’s door opened, and a tall man in a dark uniform and a winter hat stepped out.

“Everything alright here?” the deputy called out, his hand resting near his belt.

“Yes, Deputy,” Jennifer said, stepping onto the porch. “This is Mr. Sterling. He is currently vacating the premises.”

Brent looked at the deputy, then back at me.